Watch Me Burn
by The Petulant Prodigy
Summary: Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, death is only the beginning. A Soul Reaper in the domain of a god of rage. So Maybe this is what happens when a tornado meets a volcano...Slightly AU. Language, angst, sex. Character death...or is it?


**Inspiration: I Love the Way You Lie – Rihanna/Eminem**

**-Watch Me Burn-**

**The Prelude**

_'Just gonna stand there and watch me burn,_

_but that's alright because I like the way it hurts._

_Just gonna stand there and hear me cry,_

_But that's alright because I love the way you lie,_

_I love the way you lie.'_

Grimmjow's fist collided with an unprepared collarbone, the snapping, crunching sound as addictive to the Espada as any drug. His rage was insatiable; he was a god of wrath that had been awakened out of something primordial and evil. The darkness that consumed him was darker than the Hollow hole in his abdomen. He was as uncontrollable as lightning, as violent as a force of nature.

The blue-haired sexta had worked hard to become feared; had taken on the world with nothing more than brute strength and his bare hands. He was a feral beast that could not be tamed, could not be denied, could not be sated. Like the hole in his chest, he was empty; an animal that felt neither fear nor emotion. He couldn't ALLOW himself to feel such things. He was not human and had never been. To think that over the course of a few years even a SMIDGEN of something such as emotion had managed to worm its way into his system like a parasite, like a disease…

_'I can't tell you what it really is, I can only tell you what it feels like_

_and right now, it's a steal knife in my windpipe_

_I can't breathe, but I still fight while I can fight_

_As long as the wrong feels right, it's like I'm in flight_

_High off of love, drunk from my hate, it's like I'm huffing paint and in love with it the more I suffer, I suffocate, right before I drown, she resuscitates me, she fucking hates me…'_

And no, it had started out as nothing but pure hatred. Yes, Grimmjow knew hatred so well. It was his only comrade; hate was the only driving force in his world, in this world of torture and pain and loss. He couldn't remember a single time in his existence he had ever obsessed over another living being, had ever been consumed in the unending need to not only kill his prey, but to possess them completely, to make them his own no matter what the cost. He had never WANTED something physical before; had never been more conflicted than when he was forced to stare into those golden defiant eyes, those eyes that Grimmjow wanted to kiss and rip from the young man's skull at the same time. Those eyes…he absolutely HATED those eyes…

_'you ever loved someone so much you can barely breathe when you're with 'em? You meet and neither one of you, even though it hit 'em_

_got that warm fuzzy feeling yeah, those chills you used to get 'em_

_Now you're getting' fuckin' sick of lookin' at 'em?_

The obsession over the Soul Reaper had affected his judgment in Hueco Mundo, had made him weak. He had never been WEAK. He was the fucking king of them all; he would never allow himself to be lowered from his hard-earned status. It had taken him many, many years to eliminate each and every Espada, laughing maniacally each time as each of his comrades and foes were defeated. He had only to deal with Aizen in the end, and now that belligerent Soul Reaper with eyes of sin had taken Grimmjow's final glory.

_'You swore you'd never hit 'em, never do nothin' to hurt 'em_

_Now you're in each other's face, spewin' venom in your words when you spit 'em_

_You push, pull each other's hair, scratch, claw, bite 'em_

_Throw 'em down, pin 'em, so lost in the moments when you're in 'em_

_It's the Rage that's the culprit, it controls you both…'_

His existence had been shattered in that final moment. He had realized his ultimate goal had been stolen from him, taken by the true king. The young Soul Reaper, Ichigo Kurosaki, had effectively destroyed the greatest threat to Grimmjow's existence, the mad man known as Sosuke Aizen. That had been Grimmjow's glory, his judgment day. And then that burning sensation in his chest had begun again, that erratic beating, that misunderstood and foreign thing called EMOTION that had led Grimmjow to want to destroy the one thing in his life he had ever truly desired more than glory.

_'But your temper's just as bad as mine is, when it comes to love you're just as blinded._

_Baby please come back, it wasn't you_

_baby it was me, maybe our relationship isn't as crazy as it seems, maybe that's what happens when a tornado meets a volcano_

_All I know is I love you too much to walk away now…'_

The Soul Reaper beneath him cried out in pain, his collarbone now shattered. He convulsed, his breathing hitched and labored. Grimmjow hovered over him, the Soul Reaper's blood covering his stomach, chest, arms, and face. He could feel it in his hair and running down his ribs: the smell of it absolutely intoxicated him, but it also made him feel a crushing force unlike any other. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced; mind-numbingly painful as he shrieked in reckless abandon like the predator he was.

The Soul Reaper moved slightly, trying to lift a ghostly-white hand up, his eyes glassy with tears of pain. His breaths were barely leaving his body, shallow and painful. Grimmjow stared at the broken, bruised, and bloody Ichigo, his throat constricting as he felt wetness in his eyes that Grimmjow's brain refused to identify. No, only humans cried. Only humans possessed the ability to produce such a pitiful phenomena. What was this? What was this? Grimmjow snarled at the realization: sorrow.

_'I told you this was my fault, look me in the eye ball, _

_next time I'm pissed I'll let my fist hit the dry wall. _

_Next time, there won't be no next time, I apologize even though I know it's lies. _

_I'm tired of the games…'_

The body beneath him tried to speak, gulping for more air, blood coursing from the large wound that was on the side of his head. Grimmjow's hand reached down and yanked on the orange locks, the boy shrieking in agony as Grimmjow snarled again, crouching down to the Soul Reaper's level. Dammit, the salt water in his eyes was beginning to run over, coursing down his face just like the blood on both boys' bodies.

Grimmjow screamed in rage, as loud as he possibly could, his head thrown back as if to curse the crescent moon that was forever present in Hueco Mundo. The blackness of the landscape did not reassure him now; the cold dryness of the desert heartbreaking as Grimmjow realized he would soon be truly alone in this world.

Grimmjow felt the warm contact, the boy's fingers slightly scratching against Grimmjow's wrist, making him flinch, but he was soon leaning over the boy as if he were the source of life.

"Fuck," Grimmjow breathed, his breathing seeming as labored as Ichigo's, "God…oh God…oh God oh God oh God…"

Ichigo fought to speak again, his boney fingers finally digging into Grimmjow's wrist, making another jolt of shocking pain racket through Grimmjow's spine, confusing him further. What was this? What were these God-awful FEELINGS?

"G-Grimmjow," Ichigo wheezed, lifting his head slightly before it fell back again, "You…did it. You…are king."

Agony ripped through Grimmjow as if he had been struck by Zangetsu. Grimmjow's shrieks could be heard for miles, if there was anyone to hear them. There was no breeze, there were no other ears. Silence.

"You…" Grimmjow clenched his jaw, keeping his teeth from snapping at the youth, "You did this to me! You…you…!"

Ichigo's face lit up in a smile, his golden eyes shiny with tears and awful pain, "Don't…cry. Don't you – you dare cry…"

"FUCK!" Grimmjow raged again, his forehead nearly touching the Soul Reaper's, "Damn you! Damn you straight to hell!"

"I'll be there," the honey eyes still managed to tease, even as death was taking him by the hand, "I'll…wait there for ya."

Grimmjow stopped breathing as the Soul Reaper stopped breathing, his cerulean eyes glued to the dead boy's face. The color had been draining slowly as the injuries had taken over, but now the boy was practically ghost white, nearly as white as Grimmjow's own clothing. He released his hold on the berry immediately, drawing back as if he had been burned. He hissed, his teeth bared as more tears stained his cheeks and dribbled down his chest to fall into the white sand beneath his feet. He ripped at his clothing, and dropped to the ground, slamming his bruised fists repeatedly into the sand, wanting nothing more in the world than to die in that moment.

He knew instinctually what had happened: his heart had been ripped from his chest. His obsession had been affection; his ultimate goal had been acceptance. His insatiable rage had been an outlet for lust; his fearlessness had become fear itself, fear of the changes within himself that the Soul Reaper had been provoking.

And now, all this land, all of it was his…

and he was utterly alone.

_'Just gonna stand there and watch me burn,_

_but that's alright because I like the way it hurts…_

_Just gonna stand there and hear me cry,_

_But that's alright because I love the way you lie,_

_I love the way you lie.'_

**Continue? I have a few ideas…**


End file.
